


I'll See You On The Other Side

by J_D_McCormick



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Gen, Hamilton's death, brief appearances from other people, literally just a few hundred words exploring Hamilton's thoughts as he dies lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25099558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_D_McCormick/pseuds/J_D_McCormick
Summary: Hamilton feels his breath stutter in his throat. His eyes flutter closed against his will, and it takes him another moment to open them.“It is a mortal wound.” He says when he gathers his breath. He hears a quiet, pained sound from Eliza, before she leans close to kiss his temple.“You are not dead yet.” She says quietly against his skin.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	I'll See You On The Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of I-finally-watched-Hamilton (on Disney+), have this 1000-odd-word drabble of Hamilton dying. Pretty sure I got bits and pieces of information and such from other fics I'd read and very brief Google searches, but I actually wrote this back in like 2017, so I have no clue. Hope you enjoy it regardless.

He’s lost time, somewhere – he feels himself coming to his senses, but he doesn’t remember losing them in the first place. His chest tightens at the thought as it always has done, the thought of time wasted resting as heavy on his mind as ever.

And then the pain comes to him in a rush and he gives a ragged gasp.

He’s suddenly aware that there is something wrong with his breathing; he does not feel like he can take in enough air, and the pain flairs with each inhale. His body attempts a cough but it is weak and almost robs him of consciousness again as his entire chest suddenly feels like it has been set alight. He tries to search for some reason for the pain to be there, tries to drag up some memories from the haze he woke from a moment ago…

The fever he had caught, in the terrible cold of a military camp? But no, that was long ago, years, a lifetime…

“Hush, dearest. Be still.” A gentle, familiar voice soothes him and a cool cloth brushes across his forehead. He sighs at the relief it brings, the clarity it lends to him slowly but surely. He can think clearer now – he was indeed long out of the battlefield, 20 years free of it, and the pain is from a bullet wound. There was a duel.

Burr.

Hamilton pries open his eyes with no small amount of effort, trying to make his eyes focus on the face leaning close to his. The small pretty eyes, delicate cheekbones, the gentle hush on her pink lips, tells him who it is at his bedside.

“Eliza.” He murmurs, hoarse and weak. He hardly has the breath to say her name, and has to endure another painful inhale to try again. “Betsy.”

“I am here. Shh.” Eliza says, her own voice almost as soft as his. Hamilton almost tries to summon the will to protest, but he feels his breath stutter in his throat and decides against it. His eyes flutter closed against his will, and it takes him another moment to open them.

“It is a mortal wound.” He says when he gathers his breath. He hears a quiet, pained sound from Eliza, before she leans close to kiss his temple.

“You are not dead yet.” She says quietly against his skin. Hamilton can tell she already knows he is not far from death. No doubt the doctor told her so as soon as she arrived. He coughs again, and tastes copper in his mouth. He weakly tries to raise a hand to wipe at his lips, hoping to spare his wife the sight of him coughing blood.

“Does the doctor have nothing for the pain?” He croaks.

“I’m afraid not, dearest.” Eliza tells him. Hamilton lets out a quiet breath, something that would have been a sigh if he had the breath.

His eyes drift closed again, and he can’t tell if he perhaps loses consciousness again – it’s hard to tell how time is passing, and it could have been seconds or hours since he last spoke, he doesn’t know. He can feel Eliza’s hand in his, squeezing gently, and he tries to squeeze back but he’s not sure if his fingers obey. Everything seems fuzzy, hazed, like he is trying to peer through thick fog. His mind feels like it is trying to panic at the loss of his usual clear and racing thoughts, at the thought of not having done enough and not having the time to do all he wants to, but it doesn’t quite manage, working too slow for the fear and anxiety to set in.

When he manages to drag his eyes open again, everything is even more blurry than before, but somehow brighter. He can see the shape of his wife at his bedside, what he thinks must be Angelica standing at her shoulder.

But more importantly, he can see Laurens, eyes bright and smile wide, his lips moving as if singing. It doesn’t occur to him that it should be odd that Laurens is so clear, stood somewhere he cannot place but at a distance, when Eliza is so blurred no more than an arm’s length from him. Laurens’ eyes crinkle as he catches Hamilton’s eyes and his smile widens. Behind him, Washington is watching as well, that warm, kind smile on his face. He still holds himself tall, still seems to have an air of command to him, and Hamilton almost wishes he could sit straight and salute him.

But then – his breath catches. Philip walks to his bedside, bright and energetic, the boy Hamilton had always loved so dearly.

“Philip.” He says – it comes out a whisper, but the joy is audible in his tone.

“Alexander?” Eliza questions, sounding a little distant to his ears.

“Philip is here.” Hamilton tells her, smiling. He hears her draw a shaking breath that sounds like it may be a precursor to a sob. He turns his head a little to smile at her. “It’s alright, Betsy. He’s okay.”

“Does he look well?” Eliza asks him, her voice shuddering a little.

“Yes.” Hamilton breathes. “Yes, he looks well. He’s smiling.”

Phillip’s laugh reaches his ears and he sighs softly, smiling and letting his eyes close. He feels Eliza squeeze his hand tightly, and he again attempts to squeeze back. He feels her hair against his face as she presses her forehead to his.

“You’ll say hello to him from me, won’t you?” She murmurs softly. Hamilton chuckles.

“If you wish.” He tells her. He doesn’t think to protest that Phillip is right beside him. His mind has no more room for protests or arguments. Everything is soft and quiet, and though some part of him says that something is wrong for that to be so, he doesn’t listen to it. He wishes for quiet.

“I love you, Alexander.” Eliza tells him, and bestows a gentle yet fierce kiss on his forehead, as if she is trying to press her love into him with the touch of her lips.

“I love you too, Betsy.” Hamilton replies. He feels the pull of tiredness around him, dark but warm, alluring. He doesn’t have any pressing duties; no more essays to write or meetings to attend. For once, he is calm, it is quiet, and he wants to give in to tiredness. “I’m going back to sleep.”

He just about registers Eliza’s breath shuddering. “Go ahead, my love. Rest well.” She whispers softly.

Hamilton lets himself settle. He drifts off to the comfort of Eliza’s hand in his, and the knowledge that when he wakes, he’ll again see the ones he cares for the most.

Death takes him gently, embracing him like an old friend.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, feedback is very much appreciated, but do mind that this was written some 3 or so years ago and I only did minor editing and checking lmao.


End file.
